In her twentieth year she was married to Mr. A. H. Hoge, a merchant of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, where she resided fourteen years. At the end of that period she removed to Chicago, Illinois, where she has since dwelt.

Mrs. Hoge has been the mother of thirteen children, five of whom have passed away before her. One of these, the Rev. Thomas Hoge, was a young man of rare endowments and promise.

As before stated, from the very beginning of the war, Mrs. Hoge identified herself with the interests of her country. Two of her sons immediately entered the army, and she at once commenced her unwearied personal services for the sick and wounded soldiers.

At first she entered only into that work of supply in which so large a portion of the loyal women of the North labored more or less continuously all through the war. But the first public act of her life as a Sanitary Agent, was to visit, at the request of the Chicago branch of the United States Sanitary Commission, the hospitals at Cairo, Mound City and St. Louis.

Of her visit to one of these hospitals she subsequently related the following incidents:

"The first great hospital I visited was Mound City, twelve miles from Cairo. It contained twelve hundred beds, furnished with dainty sheets, and pillows and shirts, from the Sanitary Commission, and ornamented with boughs of fresh apple blossoms, placed there by tender female nurses to refresh the languid frames of their mangled inmates. As I took my slow and solemn walk through this congregation of suffering humanity, I was arrested by the bright blue eyes, and pale but dimpled cheek, of a boy of nineteen summers. I perceived he was bandaged like a mummy, and could not move a limb; but still he smiled. The nurse who accompanied me said, 'We call this boy our miracle. Five weeks ago, he was shot down at Donelson; both legs and arms shattered. To-day, with great care, he has been turned for

God bless the soldiers.' A crowd of eager listeners had gathered from their hiding-places, as birds from the rocks. Instead of cheers as usual, I could only hear an occasional sob and feel solemn silence. The gray-haired veteran drew from his breastpocket a daguerreotype, and said, 'Here are my wife and daughters. I think any man might be proud of them, and they all work for the soldiers.' And then each man drew forth the inevitable daguerreotype, and held it for me to look at, with pride and affection. There were aged mothers and sober matrons, bright-eyed maidens and laughing cherubs, all carried next these brave hearts, and cherished as life itself. Blessed art! It seems as though it were part of God's preparation work, for this long, cruel war. These mute memorials of home and its loved ones have proved the talisman of many a tempted heart, and the solace of thousands of suffering, weary veterans. I had much to do, and prepared to leave. I said, 'Brave men, farewell! When I go home, I'll tell them that men that never flinch before a foe, sing hymns of praise in the rifle-pits of Vicksburg. I'll tell them that eyes that never weep for their own suffering, overflow at the name of home and the sight of the pictures of their wives and children. They'll feel more than ever that such men cannot be conquered, and that enough cannot be done for them.' Three cheers for the women at home, and a grasp of multitudes of hard, honest hands, and I turned away to visit other regiments. The officer who was with me, grasped my hand; 'Madam,' said he, 'promise me you'll visit my regiment to-morrow 'twould be worth a victory to them. You don't know what good a lady's visit to the army does. These men whom for six months to

you have seen to-day, will talk of your visit

come.

Around the camp fires, in the rifle-pits, in the dark nights or on the march, they will repeat your words, describe your looks, your voice, your size, your dress, and all agree in one respect, that you look like an angel, and exactly like each man's wife or mother.' Such reverence have our soldiers for upright,

tender-hearted women. In the valley beneath, just having exchanged the front line of rifle-pits, with the regiment now occupying it, encamped my son's regiment. Its ranks had been fearfully thinned by the terrible assaults of the 19th and 21st of May, as they had formed the right wing of the line of battle on that fearful day. I knew most of them personally, and as they gathered round me and inquired after home and friends, I could but look in sadness for many familiar faces, to be seen no more on earth. I said, 'Boys, I was present when your colors were presented to you by the Board of Trade. I heard your colonel pledge himself that you would bring those colors home or cover them with your blood, as well as glory. I want to see them, if you have them still, after your many battles.' With great alacrity, the man in charge of them ran into an adjoining tent, and brought them forth, carefully wrapped in an oil-silk covering. He drew it off and flung the folds to the breeze. What does this mean?' I said. 'How soiled and tattered, and rent and faded they look-I should not know them.' The man who held them said, 'Why, ma'am, 'twas the smoke and balls did that.' 'Ah! so it must have been,' I said. 'Well, you have covered them with glory, but how about the blood!' A silence of a minute followed, and then a low voice said, 'Four were shot down holding them-two are dead, and two in the hospital.' 'Verily, you have redeemed your pledge,' I said solemnly. 'Now, boys, sing Rally round the Flag, Boys!'-and they did sing it. As it echoed through the valley, as we stood within sight of the green sward that had been reddened with the blood of those that had fought for and upheld it, methought the angels might pause to hear it, for it was a sacred song-the song of freedom to the captive, of hope to the oppressed of all nations. Since then, it seems almost profane to sing it with thoughtlessness or frivolity. After a touching farewell, I stepped into the ambulance, surrounded by a crowd of the brave fellows. The last sound that reached my ears was cheers for the Sanitary Commission, and the

women at home. I soon reached the regimental hospital, where lay the wounded color-bearers. As I entered the tent, the surgeon met me and said, 'I'm so glad you've come, for R

has been calling for you all day.' As I took his parched, feverish hand, he said, 'Oh! take me home to my wife and little ones to die.' There he lay, as noble a specimen of vigorous manhood as I had ever looked upon. His great, broad chest heaved with emotion, his dark eyes were brilliant with fever, his cheeks flushed with almost the hue of health, his rich brown hair clustering in soft curls over his massive forehead, it was difficult to realize that he was entering the portals of eternity. I walked across the tent to the doctor, and asked if he could go with me. He shook his head, and said before midnight he would be at rest. I shrank from his eager gaze as I approached him. 'What does he say?' he asked quickly. 'You can't be moved.' The broad chest rose and fell, his whole frame quivered. There was a pause of a few minutes. He spoke first, and said, 'Will you take my message to her?' 'I will,' I said, 'if I go five hundred miles to do it.' 'Take her picture from under my pillow, and my children's also. Let me see it once more.' As I held them for him, he looked earnestly, and then said, 'Tell her not to fret about me, for we shall meet in heaven. Tell her 'twas all right that I came. I don't regret it, and she must not. Tell her to train these two little boys, that we loved so well, to go to heaven to us, and tell her to bear my loss like a soldier's wife and a Christian.' He was exhausted by the effort. I sat beside him till his consciousness was gone, repeating God's precious promises. As the sun went to rest that night, he slept in his Father's bosom."

Early in January, 1864, another Council of women connected wih the Branch Commissions, Aid Societies, and general work of Supply, assembled in Washington, and was in session three days. Mrs. Hoge, was again a Delegate, and in relating the results of her now very large experience, helped greatly the beneficial results of the Council, and harmonized all the views and

action of the various branches. As before, she was listened to with deference and attention, and we find her name mentioned in the most appreciative manner in the Reports of the meeting. Her remarks in regard to the value of free use of the Press, and of advertising, in the collection of supplies for the Army, stimulated the Commission to renewed effort in this direction, which they had partially abandoned under the censorious criticism of some portion of the public, who believed the money thus expended to be literally thrown away. The result was, instead, a very large increase of supplies.

In the two great Sanitary Fairs, which were held in Chicago, the efforts of Mrs. Hoge were unwearied from the inception of the idea until the close of the successful realization. Much of this success may be directly traced to her-her practical talent, great experience in influencing the minds and action of others, and sound judgment, as well as good taste, producing thus their natural results. The admirable conduct of these fairs, and the large amounts raised by them, are matters of history.

In an address delivered at a meeting of ladies in Brooklyn, New York, in March, 1865, Mrs. Hoge thus spoke of her work and that of the women, who like her, had given themselves to the duty of endeavoring to provide for the sick and suffering soldier:

"The women of the land, with swelling hearts and uplifted eyes asked 'Lord, what wilt thou have us to do?' The marvellous organization of the United States Sanitary Commission, with its various modes of heavenly activity, pointed out the way, saying 'The men must fight, the women must work, this is the way, follow me.' In accepting this call, there has been no reservation. Duty has been taken up, in whatever shape presented, nothing refused that would soothe a sorrow, staunch a wound, or heal the sickness of the humblest soldier in the ranks. Some have drifted into positions entirely new and heretofore avoided. They have gone forth from the bosom of their families, to visit